


C'mon Girls (Let's Show The Guys That We Know)

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GKM prompt: Piano in the choir/glee room. Rough (consensual) sex. Somebody walks in and Santana notices, doesn't care and continues to screw Rachel senseless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'mon Girls (Let's Show The Guys That We Know)

Santana is _pissed_. No, pissed doesn't even begin to cover it. Who the fuck does Rachel Berry think she is, messing with the high school caste system? It's there for a reason, okay? Without it, there'd be chaos. Jocks and Cheerios at the top; geeks and freaks at the bottom. It works. And Rachel? Rachel is screwing it up big time. _Big. Time._

Does that ankle-biter really think she can get away with it? Not on Santana Lopez's watch.

For the most part, the school's hallways and classrooms clear out by quarter to five, but Santana knows that Rachel fucking Berry practically lives in that damn choir room, so she isn't entirely surprised to find Rachel alone by the piano at five o'clock, looking over some sheet music. Santana barrels in and slams the door behind her.

" _Berry._ "

Rachel looks up from her sheet music. "Oh, Santana. Good timing. I wanted to talk to you about your performance in practice yesterday. Now, I know that not everyone is naturally gifted with a large vocal range, but your E's were flat, and I think if you—"

"Listen, you little man-dwarf," Santana cuts in, approaching her. "I'm not here to listen to you word vomit about Glee. Keep your hairy knuckles off Puckerman. Got it?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I have no time for your jealousy act, Santana. Noah reassured me that you two were well and broken up. I don't encourage infidelity and I certainly do not involve myself in a relationship with multiple partners."

Santana grabs a fistful of Rachel's sweater, pulling her closer. "Get it through your thick skull: you need to _back off_."

Santana shoves Rachel, pinning her against the piano. Rachel's back arches around the edge as Santana hovers menacingly over her. Santana opens her mouth to tear Rachel a new one when, to Santana's surprise, Rachel lifts a leg between Santana's, the top of her thigh rubbing against Santana's cheer spankies. Instinctively, Santana bucks her hips. Well, shit. This isn't in Santana's plan to restore order to McKinley High.

Humping Rachel Berry's leg is never in any of Santana's plans. Ever.

Rachel has a little self-indulgent grin on her face, and Santana wants nothing more than to wipe it right off. Santana's hands wrap around Rachel's hips, and she hikes Rachel higher up on the piano until only her legs are dangling from the edge. Rachel slides smoothly across the glossy surface of the instrument. As she's squirming for traction, her sheet music flies to the ground, forgotten.

"Santana, this is an extremely expensive instrument," Rachel reprimands, her breath heavy as she tries to lift herself to her elbows. "If you damage it and I have to dip into my college fund to pay for it to be repaired, resulting in my failure to attend a prestigious performing arts college of my choosing, I will _die_ and my ghost will _haunt you for the rest of your life_."

"Keep your mouth shut, Berry," Santana growls, boosting herself up on the piano and climbing over Rachel. She straddles Rachel's right leg and presses her thigh sharply against Rachel's center. Rachel's head rolls back at the contact.

Santana tugs Rachel's neatly-tucked blouse out of the waist of her skirt and tries to pull everything, ugly argyle sweater and all, over Rachel's head, but it gets stuck around her midsection.

"Shit, why are there so many buttons?" Santana demands angrily. "Take it off."

Rachel begins undoing the buttons from the collar down. "Santana, this is highly inappropriate," she chides, even as she lifts her hips to grind against Santana's thigh.

"Yeah," Santana mutters, "tell me about it."

Santana decides that Rachel is taking too long with those damn buttons, so she shoves Rachel's hands away and just pries the sweater and blouse as far apart as they will go. It's enough to expose Rachel's bra. And… front clasp, thank the Lord. The only piece of reasonable clothing Rachel has on as far as Santana is concerned. She snaps it open and pushes it aside.

Santana lowers her head to Rachel's left breast, tongue flicking out to twirl around the nipple before taking it into her mouth and rolling it between her lips. Rachel makes a small whimpering sound, her back arching off the piano.

Without breaking contact with Rachel's chest, Santana's hand wanders under Rachel's skirt, and she fumbles around for the waistband of her underwear, but she's either wearing granny panties or a fucking chastity belt because Santana cannot seem to manage to pull them off. She grunts and pulls her face away from Rachel's breasts.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

Santana doesn't bother to wait for a response, just yanks the panties aside at the crotch, her fingers finding wet heat. Rachel moans, her hand grasping at Santana's upper arm. Santana chuckles as she plays with Rachel's clit.

"Bet you never got this wet for Puck," she groans, sliding a finger in.

Rachel's nails dig into Santana's arm, and Santana curses under her breath. Fucking Rachel Berry. _Fucking_ – literally – Rachel Berry. What the hell is wrong with her? And holy shit, is she actually enjoying this? Santana has to admit, there's something wholly satisfying about being able to shut Rachel up. And in the choir room, of all places, on the piano Rachel so loves sliding up against while she's performing. Slide against _this_ , Santana thinks as she works a second finger in, thumb rolling roughly around Rachel's clit, which elicits a strangled moan.

"Hey, man-hands," Santana grinds through her teeth, punctuating each word with a thrust of her fingers, "I'm not doing all the work. Get. Busy."

Immediately, Rachel's hands slide to Santana's hips, then around to cup Santana's ass. Rachel is surprisingly strong and manages to slide Santana a few inches up her thigh. The friction is mind-blowing. Santana needs more. Rachel though, her whole body tenses, and her face scrunches up like she's concentrating really hard on hitting a note or being psychic or some other bullshit. Santana recognizes that one, so she clamps her free hand over Rachel's mouth and thrusts deep inside. Rachel lets out a cry, muffled by Santana's palm, as she tightens around Santana's fingers.

Santana only slows down a little before picking up the pace again. Rachel's got a lot more in her, Santana can tell, and judging by the way she's reacting to the second round, Santana's got her pinned, in more ways than one.

Rachel's hand slides to the back of Santana's head, and her fist tightens around Santana's hair. Santana is about to bitch her out for it when she tugs Santana down, their lips meeting in an open-mouthed kiss. Santana tastes the aggression on Rachel's lips as she sweeps her tongue across. Rachel moans into her mouth, a low aroused kind of moan that Santana knows comes only from having someone fill you exactly the right way. A way in which Santana is currently not being filled. She tears her lips away.

"Fuck," Santana grunts. "Get your fingers in there, Berry. Make yourself useful."

Rachel complies, reaching to hike Santana a little closer so that she's practically riding Rachel's hipbone. Without another word, Rachel blindly pulls Santana's spankies aside from behind with one hand, the other swiping across Santana's entrance. Rachel has no trouble pushing two fingers in while a third works Santana's clit. Santana hisses, pumping into Rachel with renewed vigor.

"Jesus Christ, you sure you've never done this before?"

"My sexual appetite is actually reasonably strong," Rachel replies, breath shallow. "I maintain a healthy masturbation schedule, so I know my way around."

Santana groans. "Liked it better when you weren't talking."

Santana thrusts her hips in rhythm with Rachel's fingers, which in turn makes her own fingers move at the same pace. Rachel shuts her eyes and starts making these little whimpering noises at the back of her throat, which absolutely drives Santana nuts.

"Will you quit sounding like I'm wounding you?"

But Santana's pretty sure Rachel does not hear her at all, because she just keeps going, and louder. Rachel's hips start lifting off the piano in beat with Santana's fingers driving into her, and shit, no way is Santana going to get Rachel off twice before she herself even has a chance at one.

Without warning, the choir room door opens, and Kurt walks in, unaware. Immediately, he stops dead in his tracks, and color drains from his already-pale cheeks.

Rachel's eyes are still closed, and she doesn't notice the guest. Santana grins, catching Kurt's eye as she hammers into Rachel, and Kurt's ashen face turns bright red. Rachel chooses that moment to work a third finger into Santana, and she groans at the unexpected but certainly not unwelcome change.

A few more thrusts is all it takes for Rachel as she peaks, and hard. Santana doesn't even bother gagging Rachel's mouth this time, because the sound of Rachel's cry brings Santana to the edge. Rachel is still pumping her fingers in and out of Santana, and she speeds up, urging Santana on. Santana's head falls forward, and Rachel buries her face into Santana's neck. A light nip against Santana's pulse point and a wandering finger pressing down on Santana's clit is enough for her, and Santana's body jerks violently as she comes.

As Rachel and Santana work each other down, Rachel finally notices the flustered boy standing near the doorway of the choir room.

"Kurt!"

"I didn't see that," Kurt croaks, eyes wide. "This is a dream. A hallucination. I'm Alice."

Santana laughs as she climbs off Rachel and leaps off the piano, readjusting her Cheerios uniform. "Enjoy the show, Hummel?"

Rachel sits up and primly crosses one leg over the other as she re-clasps her bra and calmly begins buttoning up her blouse.

"I—I play that piano!" Kurt stammers, close to tears. "Please tell me that was the first time. Actually, I don't want to know. Don't tell me. Oh my god, bleach. I need bleach."

Santana glides a hand across the edge of the piano. "Relax. We'll get that psycho guidance counselor to come in here with a toothbrush tomorrow morning. She'll love it."

"Santana," Rachel says with a straight face from the top of the piano, "your high E's still need work."

Santana steps up to Rachel, shoulders pulled back. "And you still need to leave Puck alone," she warns menacingly. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Or else what?" Rachel challenges.

Santana only grins.

 

_fin_


End file.
